


despair

by differentsnowflake



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester-centric, Destiel is canon y'all, Episode: s15e18 Despair - Castiel's Confession Scene, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Dean Winchester, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, i guess, something like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27424942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/differentsnowflake/pseuds/differentsnowflake
Summary: It's always been worse to stay than to leave, he knows it and he's lived it, but this time feels stronger than ever. The feeling of loss is so intense that it has left all of his other feelings frozen. He doubts he'll ever be able to feel anything else again.He can feel blood proding through the thin fabric that separates Castiel's last contact from his skin. His shoulder tingles, as if someone were burning it, branding it, and he'd give anything to know that there's someone actually burning him, to know there's still hope, to know there's still a chance to see a couple of bright blue eyes again, full of everything he's ever associated with happiness.Or, Dean's thoughts after Castiel gets taken away by The Empty.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 85





	despair

**Author's Note:**

> i still don't know how to live.  
> grammatical mistakes are on me.

He doesn't know where he is, and he doesn't know where he's going.

He's not _lost,_ not exactly, because in order to be lost you need to have a destiny in mind, a place you wanted to reach all along. He's just- sorrounded by darkness, trying to figure out the way it's moving around him, hugging him, suffocating him, asphyxiating him. He doesn't know if he's standing, if he's sitting or lying down or dying. 

Everything's an endless ladder of inmense feelings that expand all over the small space that his broken heart occupies, in the middle of his chest. It's tons of _something_ crushing him down, keeping his lungs from expanding, making it imposible for fear to stop corroding his veins. He's melting, like wax falling heavily from a worn candle, pouring thick tears that surround his body and make him drown.

He doesn't know if this is what dying feels like, dying for good, but he thinks it's an awful way to leave. He always guessed death would be more defined, quieter, and more painful, less cruel. This is a scream so loud that it loses meaningness, a shriek that destroys eardrums and runs through his brain like thousands of daggers that stab at the part of it that processes pain, loss.

It's always been worse to stay than to leave, he knows it and he's lived it, but this time feels stronger than ever. The feeling of loss is so intense that it has left all of his other feelings frozen. He doubts he'll be able to feel anything else again.

He can feel blood proding through the thin fabric that separates Castiel's last contact from his skin. His shoulder tingles, as if someone were burning it, branding it, and he'd give anything to know that there's someone actually burning him, to know there's still hope, to know there's still a chance to see a couple of bright blue eyes again, full of everything he's ever associated with happiness. 

But right now, there's nothing. There's nothing but that thick, numbing darkness that took Castiel away in the first place.

He closes his eyes, but nothing changes. All or nothing, his eyes have stopped seeing beyond of shining memories that will never happen again. Maybe he's had his eyes closed this whole time, and he has just opened them. He _doesn't care._

His body is shaking, that's the only thing he's sure of. He's undoing himself, as if his molecules would've gotten sick of containing him, of containing his despair. Even his anatomy is giving up.

He doesn't know how to move on, he's forgotten what resilience is in a single second. Nothing makes sense without him.

The last second of his face shines beind his retinas, the little calming smile that Castiel put effort in dedicating him, letting him know that he _was_ happy, that he didn't regret his choice. Dean knows it was an attempt at making him feel better, but it hasn't worked. The only thing he can think about is the fact that Cas was willing to go, willing to leave him.

He should be used to that by now, used to every person he loves leaving, after all. It's the only constant he's had in his life.

Everything he had planned, everything he had been fighting for, everything has faded away along with him. He was so confident of his plan, so impatient to reach a goal that included his happiness as a prize. But _nothing matters anymore._

He wonders what'll happen if he stays there, sitting for the rest of his life, waiting until his heart finishes shutting down, waiting until death washes his sorrow away.

He wonders if his dad would be disappointed, if he'd hate the easiness with which he's giving up. But he also knows they have a lot in common. They both have slowly lost their minds, have forgotten who they were without the person who reminded them that by their sides.

He's always resented his father, slightly outraged at the way he allowed himself to change after everything that happened. But now he _understands,_ he understands so much that he wants to punch something, that he doesn't know who he hates more. Is it his dad, himself, or the things that took away the person they loved the most?

He's been considering this possibility for so damn long, he's been dreaming of it since he accepted how big the place Castiel had built inside his heart was, so _his_ that it's hard to explain. He's been picturing it, giving himself little glimpses of a reality without him, so he could be ready in case something like this ever happened. Fuck, he's even lived it, he's lost Cas more times than it should be possible.

But there's someone inside of him screaming that this has been the last time this happened. That was the last he saw of him, that was the last time he touched him, the last time he felt his non-existent breathing warming his skin. And he can't bear it. He doesn't _want_ to bear it.

At least this time they were able to say goodbye. At least Cas was able to say goodbye, and he doesn't know if it makes everything better or worse. The darkness he's submerged in won't let him think clearly. He only has to disappear a small eternity so he can start thinking with clearness again.

He was so close, goddammit. So close, so close, _soclosesoclosesoclose-_

He can't breathe. He couldn't breathe before, but now his lungs have disappeared and in their place there's just blood and memories and love that no longer have a place to run into. Everything is accrued inside of him, a rotten mix, acidic and poisonous. It corrodes him from the inside, it makes him fade away like the foam fades away when the waves hit the shore.

He's forgotten how to absorb air; his heart has forgotten how to beat. He's forgotten how to live.

Time extends itself like a suffocating blanket, covering completely, so everything else disappears. He's aware of the shadow that the fan on the ceiling draws, a dark, oscillating shape that it's the only thing he can focus on.

Suddenly, he hears Castiel's voice, yelling his name, sobbing out three words addressed at him. But letters don't make sense between the disaster that his brain has become, though, and he can only see Castiel's face, decorated with tears and _despair,_ the way fear blurred away from his features in the last second, as if trying to leave a last food memory.

And Dean holds onto that, he holds onto that with so much force his hands break, that the memory starts wearing itself out. He holds onto that ledge, onto that smile and that look of _peace,_ full of knowledge and blurry memories, shaky with a deaf, tacit happiness, the only one they could ever afford to have.

He holds onto that until breathing becomes easier, just a little bit easier. Just easy enough so his thoughts lose that painfully dark color. He knows what he has to do. For a brief instant, he's got it clear.

He'll finish this. He'll finish it all. Whatever it takes, respecting agreements and concessions. He owes that to Castiel, he owes that to the person that sacrificed absolutely everything for the common good, for _free will._ he owes that to the person that sacrificed himself so everyone could take their own choices without being controlled by invisible strings sawed to their skin. Castiel made his choice.

Castiel chose to _love._

And Dean owes him that win. He owes him that and so much more.

And then, he'll go with him. It's the only logic move, the thing he's _supposed_ to do. He doesn't know when, he doesn't know how, but he's going to find him. Dead or alive, the only thing he actually _deserves_ is to spend the rest of their short free eternity by his side. 

Because Dean loves him.

His story started with an obsessive, risky mission driven by a dead person, and his story will end with an obsessive, risky mission driven by a dead person. The only difference is that now, Dean's going to _save_ Castiel, not avenge him. 

He's going to save Castiel, just like he saved Dean so many years ago, and that will be the last thing he'll ever do. And he's okay with that.

Because he chooses to love too. 

**Author's Note:**

> i still can't process everything that happende yesterday, so i translated this thing that I wrote a couple of weeks ago.  
> and definitely don't read this while you listen to "unsaid emily" in a loop, 'cause you'll cry. Or something like that, it's not like I'm crying.  
> english is not my first language so I'm sorry if this sucks! Comments are highly appreciated.


End file.
